


Krampus

by Gem_Gem, KittieHill



Series: Christmas Prompts [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A-Z Christmas Prompt, Discussion, Friendship, Gen, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg is Sweet, Greg kind of gives advice, John Has Issues, John is a Mess, John is confused, Krampus - Freeform, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21760423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: All in all, it wasn't at all how he had expected his afternoon to turn out. Not one bit.Everything that had seemed too surreal, too strange to be anything but fictitious. It felt like some sort of fever dream, a crazy mismatch of memories, thoughts, feelings and knowledge whisked together into an incoherent mush. A mush of recognisable things in unrecognisable ways. He was somewhat used to a certain sort of disbelief, living with Sherlock and trailing after him as he followed the residue of impossible crimes, yet he hadn't been faced with something so outrageously outlandish as the presence of a creature from folklore on the streets of London before.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson
Series: Christmas Prompts [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559605
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Krampus

All in all, it wasn't at all how he had expected his afternoon to turn out. Not one bit.

Everything that had seemed too surreal, too strange to be anything but fictitious. It felt like some sort of fever dream, a crazy mismatch of memories, thoughts, feelings and knowledge whisked together into an incoherent mush. A mush of recognisable things in unrecognisable ways. He was somewhat used to a certain sort of disbelief, living with Sherlock and trailing after him as he followed the residue of impossible crimes, yet he hadn't been faced with something so outrageously outlandish as the presence of a creature from folklore on the streets of London before.

However, the fact that he was sitting in Lestrade's office, shoulder throbbing from pulled muscles and raw tendons, proved that it had indeed actually happened. He had actually rugby tackled the lovingly feared Krampus. 

John had been walking, minding his own business, enjoying the lights, window shopping at stores he'd never looked at twice, when he'd heard a shout and turned to be confronted with a huge, black faced creature covered in furs rushing in his direction, followed closely by a gaggle of police officers and security guards. As much as it had shocked him, made him doubt his senses, wonder if in fact he was still asleep, he'd didn't hesitate. With barely another thought John had thrown himself at the monster, taking him to the floor with a painful, body shuddering thud and an exclamation of hissed curses, pinning the thing down into the kerb, into the gutter, until the officers were on hand to take over. He'd received some applause as he rolled away onto his side, a smile or two from those that were lingering nearby, a photo taken by several lifted phones, and then the next thing he had seen was Greg Lestrade standing over him with a massive smile on his pleased face. 

He looked up from his idly musings when Greg came back into the room with two coffees and nodded in thanks, taking a wincing sip, "Do you even need me here for a witness statement?"

Greg took the paperwork tucked up under his arm and gave it a wave, an expression of sympathy coming over his face, "Afraid so. You did him a bit of damage as well so..." he mumbled. "Plus, you're a doctor and ex military, that's one good witness! One of the best sort of witness to have. Your credentials almost speak for you. _Almost_." Throwing the papers associated with the Krampus' arrest down on his desk, Greg spread them out and then arranged some of them to face in John's direction, giving a few a tap of importance. "Not entirely procedure though, I must admit. I'm bending a few rules somewhat. Like I seem to apparently _love_ to do for you..."

Secretly quite pleased not to have to go home yet, catching up with Greg whilst simultaneously avoiding Sherlock, John only gave a nod and set to work, writing and signing whatever was asked of him as Greg leaned over his shoulder, "Couldn't you have bent the rules a bit more and have it so I don't have to do these?"

"Nope."

"... _Because_?"

"People saw you," Greg told him, taking a slurp of coffee next to John's ear. "Unavoidable." 

"Not many saw me."

"Enough did. Taking photos and recording videos. It'll be online already, circulating, gathering views, likes, stupid comments," Greg grumbled. "I can see the title now, 'Stranger succeeds where the police failed, Christmas is saved!'"

John shot a glance up at him with a faint wrinkle of his nose, "Won't people be more creative than that?--"

"Shut it. People are idiots, remember?"

"Ah. Yes, how could I forget," John mumbled, sharing a smile before he went back to it, wanting to get most, if not all, of the boring stuff out of the way quickly, for both of their benefits. "Not everyone can be as imaginative with titles as I can."

Greg laughed and thumped his back, "Too true. You would have been a good journalist, I think. Thinking up witty things for the papers."

"Technically I _am_ a journalist, but only for Sherlock Holmes."

"You should branch out," Greg told him, half joking, half serious. "You're not nearly as appreciated by that arse as you _should_ be." 

“Hm - So, what had the Krampus done?” John asked, looking up from signing his name. “You didn't say. Did he steal? Upset a few kids? I can't have just dropped a mythical creature to the floor for _no reason_?”

Greg snorted around his styrofoam cup and shook his head, moving then to slump down into his desk chair with a long sigh, “Considering you see us from beside Sherlock, and he makes a habit of showing us up, I suppose I can’t be overly offended by that remark,” he said, shooting John a lopsided, tensing grin. "No, it wasn't for no reason. He's been going around stealing from those charity collecting Santas, as well as from the homeless, the ones that beg for money. Been doing it for a few days now but we didn't have anything concrete to work with. He picked his victims quite well. - Stupid really. Not that exciting. Just a fool in a costume."

“Did you offer the case to _him_? To Sherlock?” John questioned as he finished up and leaned back in the chair, relaxing. Soothed by Greg's presence. He didn't have to be so on guard around him. “I haven't spoken to him today so he hasn't told me anything if so?”

“Isn’t that a bit of a dumb question?” Greg scoffed with an arched eyebrow, taking a teeth baring sip from his cup as he gestured to the paperwork still scattered across his desk, flicking the end of one folder. “I’d not _dare_ bother His Nibs about this sort of stuff. He’d only laugh in my face. Or worse, do that looming and sneering thing he does. Snarling about it being _dull_ and _simple_. Picking fault at the department for their lack of progress. Sprouting unprovoked attacking observations about the fact he knows how terrible my life is, that he knows where I slept the night before from the creases in my clothes, sleep lines on my cheek, and direction of my hair.”

“Yeah. That's him alright," he agreed, looking Greg over, noting the unkempt rumple of his shirt, his trousers, and the bags under his eyes. "Where _did_ you sleep last night? - Are you still seeing that woman? Is that where you were?--”

Greg let out a frustrated groan and leaned forward to rest on his elbows, rubbing a hand down his face, “Did Sherlock already say something? - I swear that man gets more and more _insufferable_ with each year. He's a right fucking gossip.”

“ _No_. No, he didn't. He— _Yeah_ , yeah, okay he did,” John confessed with a nod and an apologetic smile. “He mentioned you were seeing a woman. Apparently he thinks she'll be good for you, if, and I quote, 'He's perfectly content to be emasculated at every opportunity and kept on a tight lead for the rest of his life, force-fed and engorged on the woes of women...' which I think is a bit ridiculous, personally.” 

“... I hate him. I really, truly, _hate_ him,” Greg uttered before laughing and rolling up his sleeves, gesturing vaguely with a shrug. “Yeah, he’s… _somewhat_ correct. She was fine at first. Brilliant. Strong, intelligent, _opinionated_. Exactly my type. But turns out, she was a bit of a nutter. She hated gender stereotypes a little _too_ much. I couldn’t so much as hold a door open for her without her becoming hysterical. She lecture me, for a good two hours, on how degrading it was for me to think she was too weak to open a door herself. - _It’s just good manners_! I don’t bloody care what's between their fucking legs, I’ll open the door for anyone! I mean, she had her arms full, there was _literally_ no way she was going to open the door herself. _What did she expect_? For it to magically open by itself? - Then there was the hitting. Smacking me in play a little _too_ hard. Slapping me if I left the toilet seat up." He shrugged again and folded his arms. "She kept telling me that _she’d_ look after _me_. That she’d do this and that. That she didn’t need any help. Didn’t need a _man's_ help, specifically.” 

“ _Ah_ , I'm sorry to hear it didn't work out mate. Not a very healthy relationship at all,” John sighed in compassion, lifting his coffee cup up for a silent salute. “Still, at least you haven't let it get at you _too_ much and you're back in the game again now? You seem in good spirits, I mean. Because... you know... your clothes suggest that you might have slept on someone's sofa...”

Greg levelled a glare at him, " _Don't_. Don't become _him_. Don't do this to me."

"Sorry..."

“And not sure I _am_ in the game. Not even sure what the game even _is_ anymore,” Greg grumbled, glancing off into the distance for a moment with a look of sombre irritation. “Times have changed and… it’s like I’ve been locked up in a room with one window—Well, I suppose in some ways I _have_ been. Work takes over most of my life. I don’t really socialise outside of it. I _should_. But I don’t.”

“I understand and empathise _entirely_ ,” John replied. “I think I'm going to knock the dating on the head for the moment myself. It's just too – _messy_.”

“With Sherlock Holmes as your flatmate, yeah, it’s probably _extremely messy_. I don’t know how you cope, I really don’t,” Greg told him with a small, twisting grin. “You really are something else, you know? Not one person who knows him in this _entire_ building can put up with him for more than five minutes. And even five is pushing it.”

“He's not that bad when you understand him,” John heard himself say in Sherlock's defence, feeling a small smile come over his face. “He's caring. Cares a lot about you. About a few people. - He's a pain in the arse sometimes, granted, but he means well.”

“Well I know _that_ , but he's still a cock who no one can stand for too long,” Greg chuckled, cradling his coffee cup in both hands as he gave John a very familiar look, a very studying look. “He's a great man. _Really is_. Just can be a tad hard to get along with. Even _you_ don’t understand him completely. No one _really_ knows what goes on inside that big fat head of his.”

“No. No you're probably right. I think it's probably only Mycroft who understands him deep down, but I'm _trying_. He's opening up to me, slowly but surely. It's – nice. The good times outweigh the times when I want to strangle him, at any rate.”

Greg’s studying look only got more noticeable, more intense, “ _Oh yeah_? What’s he said then? What’s he opened up about? His collection of lapel pins?”

John frowned, “He collects lapel pins?” 

"I don't know if he still does but he used to. Or rather, I saw them in a little box once and he snapped my head off about it," Greg told him. "Each pin was in its own plastic casing and had it's own little compartment area within the box."

Taking another drink of coffee John hummed, smiled, and then gave a roll of one shoulder, stretching out the kinks in it at the same moment, “Still learning new things about that man nearly everyday... but, um, yeah, I'm just saying that it's like we've finally worked out how to be around one another without trying to kill each other.”

“So why are you avoiding him then?” Greg asked with a knowing brow shift, lifting his hand in an effort to stop any excuse that John could counter with, not that he had any. “And don’t try and deny it. I’m not _blind_.”

John really hadn't thought this through, hadn't realised how compromising, how stupid, it was to have a conversation with a man who was used to getting the truth through and looked out of the window, down at his cup, taking a drink, “It's just – its _complicated_.”

“What _isn’t_ complicated when it comes to Sherlock?” Greg retorted with a scoff. “He is a complicated man. It's only reasonable that he leads a complicated life with complicated friendships. - What did he do then?” He paused, eyes going mockingly wide in dramatic horror, and sat back. “It doesn’t have anything to do with hiding a _body_ , does it? Because that _is_ complicated and I don’t think I’m in a position to help you—I mean, I _am_ , but...”

“No!” John laughed, “God _no_ … at least there wasn't a body before I left this morning, who knows what I'm going to go home to. But, uh, yeah it's... it's just – I...” He checked with a glance at the door to make sure Greg's office was well and truly closed. “There seems to be a weirdness between us that hadn't been there before, something I never noticed. Tension, almost. A _horrible_ tension.”

Greg frowned at him and gestured for John to elaborate, “ _Because_? - I mean, what happened to create this weirdness, do you think? When _did_ you notice it? What opened your eyes to it? - What did he do, basically. He must have done _something_. He normally does.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose and shifted in his seat, not sure what to say, not really sure what was real or his imagination, his insecurities, his anxiety, “It snowed. It snowed and... and from then it's just been weird. _Electric_. Or like magnets… both. _Both_ , really. Yeah—God, I shouldn't be telling you this. _Why_ am I telling you this?”

“...You mean you want to _fuck_ him?” Greg questioned casually with a very faint waggle of his eyebrows. “Not uncommon. You either want to fuck or murder that man. There’s _barely_ any in-between.” 

John dropped his coffee cup on the floor in response, hissing as it dripped down the leg of his jeans, forcing him to stumble up onto his feet, “ _Shit_! I – I should go. _Sorry_. I should--”

“ _Whoa, whoa_ , wait a moment!” Greg exclaimed, getting up himself and sliding across the edge of his desk to grab hold of John’s arm. “ _Is that it_? Is that what this is about? You’re avoiding him because you want to _bed_ him? - Look, like I said, there’s _barely_ any in-between with him. You think you’re the _only one_? Even Sally, at one point, wanted to take him to bed. Hell, I bet even Anderson got a little moist the first time he met Sherlock.” 

John grimaced at that mental image and allowed himself to be pushed back down into the chair, “I don't _want_ to avoid him, but I feel odd... and it's a little bit _awkward._ Can't really talk to him about it. I don't want to be _mocked_ , which he'd find _some_ way to do. - And even if I could talk to him, tell him, I don't know if I _can_. I don't want to change everything and possibly ruin my _whole_ life. My home, my... family, my _work_ with him . I can't chuck that all away because I... because I have started _feeling_ different--”

“ _Aren’t you hearing me_?” Greg asked with a sigh, crossing his arms and giving a short laugh, mouth curling. “It's okay. It'll go. People get this way with him. I’m surprised it didn’t happen the first time you met him, to be perfectly honest. I thought it had. - Sherlock is an _anomaly_. He doesn’t fit. Not entirely. He’s a mystery and people are _always_ attracted to mysteries.”

“It's not just innocent attraction… it feels like _more_.” 

Greg shook his head and huffed out another laugh, “It’s _never_ innocent, John,” he murmured and went back to his chair, sinking down into it. “It doesn’t help that it’s Christmas. _Very_ sentimental time, Christmas. More so than any other holiday in my mind. Emotions run high.” 

“Yeah… yeah, you're probably right.” John muttered with a frown and a deep twisting ache, uncertain if he was explaining it right. Not that he could. He didn't know how to. Didn't know how to say what he felt, when he didn't entirely know himself. Was it just lust? Was it more? Less? Did it matter? “What's the point in lusting over Sherlock? He's never going to want to further it. It's just going to be awkward and annoying.” 

“Lusting over him is like lusting over a coworker. You know, rationally, nothing will ever happen. Nothing can come of it. That you’ll be pining from the divide that separates you… but that doesn’t stop you from feeling that lust, you know? And it’s not as if, even if something _could_ be done about it, that you _would_ do something about it. Because having a bit of a lusting crush isn’t serious. Crushes come and go. It'll probably not change much nor evolve into anything else. Lusting and crushing and admiring Sherlock is fine. Nothing wrong with it, John. It's really not an issue. - The issue is when it becomes an _obsession_. If you become _obsessed_ with Sherlock, then… well… that’s a bit not good.”

“Yeah. Yeah... I think... maybe it's just from being cooped up in the flat together without cases or much to do. We're going a bit stir crazy and its making my brain all...” He gave a random hand movement before laughing breathlessly, feeling off-kilter yet trying to pretend otherwise. “Thanks.”

Greg nodded but then tilted his head, resting his chin on one upturned hand, “If you want it to pass quickly, you could ask him something. Something personal or… _intimate_. Something he’ll shred to ribbons. You’ll see him as that cock of a man again and all weird feelings about him might just… go. - Sometimes I think he's... fantastic. Then I get too close and he opens his mouth and I remember, ah, yes, he's a massive bellend!”

John snorted, pushing strands of hair from his forehead, and smiled a smile that hurt his face, “That's what I need, yeah. A reminder of his bratty attitude. Definite boner killer.” He rummaged into his pocket and snagged a mint, offering one to Greg, pushing down on everything again, hating himself for even bringing it up. Sherlock was hard to read. Always had been. He was a great mimic. An actor. John didn't know what was going on with him, with them. “How come you know so much about people lusting over Sherlock? Is there some sort of support group here?”

“ _Dear God_ there should be,” he muttered throwing it into his mouth and immediately biting it in half. “New people are getting to know of or meet him every few weeks it seems like. Get people asking me questions about him. All the time. Some good, some... not so good. - There’s an officer, Thomas Andrews, he’s _smitten_ right now. Hasn’t even met the bloke but already gives this goofy smile whenever he brings him up in conversation. That'll be the first thing to go if they ever meet face-to-face.”

John felt an erratic pulse of jealousy and rapidly pushed it down, raising an eyebrow at Greg, “And you? You've never--” He hinted by wiggling his brows.

Greg paused for a moment, crunching the mint up into smaller and smaller pieces, “I can’t confirm nor deny...” he mumbled quietly, a smirk tugging up the corner of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, swinging his feet up onto the desk. 

“So you did? You bloody did! You fancied him! - Did you ever – _y'know_ – do anything about it?”

“I was a _married_ _man_!” 

“Pfft! Married, shmarried!” John joked, throwing another mint at Greg, watching it thud against his chest. “You were _never_ tempted? Never tempted to do something about it? Never tempted to... kiss him or... thread your fingers through his hair? Never had a quick touch of that arse in the evidence room?”

Greg dropped his head back and picked the mint up from where it had tumbled into a fold of his shirt, eyeing it as he pinched it between his fingers, “Tempted is one thing... I think we've _all_ been tempted to do something. Thought about things. _Fantasied_ about things. - But thinking about something is quite different from actually _doing it_. And I _never_ did a thing. I’m not a cheat, in _any_ capacity. Not that I really needed to do much if I _wanted_ to touch him. Sherlock doesn’t know the first thing about personal boundaries or personal space, and as such, I wouldn't have to even try to do anything. He'd do it all for me. Because he'll just lean into people. Sit on them even. He doesn’t care. - I once had him _sniff my neck_. Close enough for his nose to touch me, might I add.”

“That reminds me... you started something with him. With, uh, with us. You kissed me, on the cheek, and Sherlock saw and seemed to think he was missing out on something... he asked for me to... and of course I... and now it's...”

Greg snorted, “You _do_ have a choice in these things, you know. No matter how much Sherlock whinges, you can and should say no if you think it'll be strange or... whatever. - _Come on_ , that’s like your _thing_. That you don’t let Sherlock get away with being overly bossy.” He took the mint on his tongue and then lifted his eyebrows. “Wait… he was _jealous_ of that you mean? _Really_?”

“Yes. Very jealous, it seemed like,” John laughed, “He, um, does that though, doesn't he? Not really something that surprising... not sure why I brought it up. - Well, it's maybe odd but not completely horrible, if I'm honest. Him wanting some... affection... you know?”

“I’ll remember to give him a big wet one next time I see him then,” Greg said, interlocking his fingers over his abdomen in relaxation. “I didn’t think he liked it. That's why I never really did anything like that. I hug and kiss a lot of my friends. But, _well_ , I didn't think he saw me that way. Didn't know he wanted that too. - Also thought he’d rather be the one invading, than be invaded.”

“Is... is that a top or bottom comment?” John chuckled, wincing after he'd said it and wanting to take it back. “Sorry. That's _awful_. - I should be getting off home too. I feel better though, from our talk, so I'll say we're quits. I caught your baddie and you... fixed my brain. Gave me something to think about. Opened my eyes to... what things could be.”

Greg hummed and got up, walking around the desk to take John’s hand, give it a firm shake, and use it to pull him in for a stubbled kiss on the cheek, “If it _were_ a top or bottom comment, it would be wrong. Sherlock’s _definitely_ a bottom,” he murmured and stepped back with a broad, cheeky grin, biting down on the mint with an audible crack. 

John's face heated almost instantly, cheeks flushed as his imagination ran wild, and he cleared his throat, nodding, “Uh. _Right_. Yeah. Course. So, er, come and see us sometime. Don't be so much of a stranger. - What are you doing for Christmas? You're welcome to ours for drinks if you have no plans.”

“I might just take you up on that,” Greg replied. “Thanks. - I don’t need to bring gifts, do I?”

“Nah,” John told him dismissively, waving away the very idea, “Just whatever you want to drink – _Oh_ , actually, maybe some sherry for Mrs Hudson. That would make her day, that would. She _loves_ seeing you. She goes a bit giddy.”

Greg grinned, “I _do_ tend to have that kind of effect with the ladies,” he responded in mirth with a wink.

“The elderly ladies? Yeah, I've heard that about you,” John chuckled as he was leaving, checking that Anderson was nowhere to be found, mostly out of habit, before he said a final goodbye and headed down to the lift.

He was more lost over his feelings than he'd started off being.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
> [Kittie's Twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3hill)  
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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